the paradox of sanitized discourse

Dear reader, I must warn you that in exploring the troubling effects of "political correctness" when followed zealously, I risk veering toward its opposite extreme. Yet this tension itself might illuminate something essential about our relationship with language and meaning.

Notice that I began this essay with what could be considered a politically correct form of address. In the times we inhabit—marked by profound political disorientation—the notion of what constitutes "correct" discourse has become increasingly nebulous. Today, even the most innocent expression can transform into potential transgression, a phenomenon aptly called "sincericídio" in Portuguese—a form of sincerity suicide or homicide. To avoid hurting anyone, myself included, I've started with the very approach I intend to critique.

the metaphysics of shit

Years ago, I encountered a definition of political correctness that rooted itself deeply in my thinking: "Political correctness is a theory that supports the idea that it's perfectly possible to pick up a piece of shit by the clean side."

I don't believe this is possible. If something is shit, it's shit. It will soil, stink, and contaminate. Yet if we look beyond our immediate aversion, even the most unpleasant realities contain transformative potential—excrement becomes fertilizer, not as a tragic end but as a catalyst for new beginnings.

We cannot alter the essence of shit. We can, however, change how we treat it and what end we give it. One could say that those who opt for political correctness treat shit with such care that they prefer not to touch it at all, perhaps to avoid spoiling it. Of course, we must consider the obvious mysophobic hypothesis: those who flee from dirt at all costs.

The French philosopher Michel Foucault might recognize this dynamic as an example of how power operates not merely as external constraint but as internalized discipline—we become our own censors, policing our expression before others have the chance. This self-censorship emerges not only from fear of social consequences but from the integration of normative boundaries into our very sense of propriety.

Isn't it fascinating that we aren't born with an instinctive disgust toward excrement? Children often explore it without revulsion. Only through cultural conditioning do we learn to make the connection between excrement and disgust. I bet you know stories—perhaps you're even the protagonist—where a child explored their own waste with curiosity rather than revulsion.

This natural curiosity—this willingness to engage directly with reality before socialization shapes our responses—stands in contrast to political correctness, which seeks to control rather than explore the messy complexities of human existence. In light of these stories, one could say that curiosity kills political correctness; it kills the idea of "shit”, but it’s seems to be a fertilizer for shitty ideas. In contrast, certainty, rigid conviction, inflexibility, and the need for control lead us to choose being more "political." I wouldn't be surprised if some psychoanalysts said we've collectively become more "anal."

the caution that silences

At its foundation, political correctness is motivated by caution—a desire not to hurt, not to expose, not to misinterpret, not to offend. This caution originated from compassion, creating linguistic spaces that would protect typically disadvantaged groups. However, this care is being taken far from correctness, toward limiting freedom in more than one sense—the worst being the absence of freedom of thought itself.

As philosopher Dominique Lecourt observes, political correctness functions as "a rhetoric of dissuasion, a means of intimidation that suggests there exists a single thought, a correct path against which we must all be judged." What begins as protection transforms into constraint, narrowing the horizon of possible expression and, by extension, possible thought.

Another philosopher, Theodor Adorno, reflecting on the aftermath of World War II, noted how easily emancipatory projects can transform into their opposites when they become dogmatic. "The splinter in your eye," he wrote, "is the best magnifying glass." Perhaps political correctness begins as the attempt to remove harmful splinters from our collective vision but eventually becomes a rigid lens that distorts as much as it clarifies.

This approach can take on contours of arrogance. Assuming we know what language will be best for others is, at minimum, paternalistic (or maternalistic, to remain politically correct). The irony emerges: in attempting to respect others, we may actually deny them the agency to define their own relationship with language.

On the other hand, we're all so sensitive that this care seems justified. Just observe the speed, ferocity, and voracity of attacks on any comment that doesn't align with preexisting "black-or-white" ideas. If you don't know what I'm writing about, peek at social media or the comment sections of online newspapers.

At the risk of contradicting myself, examples like these might lead us to think that the notion that political correctness is going too far is wrong. Political figures across the spectrum have recognized and exploited this dynamic. The contradiction becomes evident: a linguistic practice designed to dismantle prejudice now frequently works to maintain and solidify the very prejudices it sought to transcend.

the unacknowledged reality at the center of the room

My interest isn't primarily the abstract political dimension, but rather how this phenomenon shapes our everyday relationships—within teams, organizations, friendships, and families. In these spaces, political correctness manifests as collective avoidance that prevents authentic engagement.

Imagine a work team where an interpersonal conflict exists. Someone cannot stand someone else, for example. Despite being known by everyone, this issue has never been discussed by anyone. When placing this team in an image, we can draw a circle where all members sit in chairs, facing the center. In the middle of this circle sits a metaphorical turd. Like all of its kind, it smells bad. Everyone perceives it, many are bothered, and perhaps a few have grown accustomed to its persistent odor. There it is. Everyone sees it and everyone smells it. Yet no one does anything about the situation. Nobody acts to relieve the discomfort. On the contrary, inaction keeps the turd in its place, producing its effect. This is political correctness embodied in a team setting.

David Whyte captures this phenomenon elegantly when he describes "conversational disasters" where "what needs to be talked about most is always what is avoided most assiduously." In this avoidance, we see a contradiction: the more important the conversation, the less likely we are to have it.

Some groups, no longer able to bear that sight and smell, adopt the strategy of placing a bag around "the problem." But everyone knows that if we have a bag with filth, the tendency is to fill it with more filth. It could be a universal law: filth attracts filth. Just look at any street in a city. If someone places a garbage bag at the door, the bag promptly transforms into a mini-landfill. The bag strategy assumes you can transform a difficult situation without actually engaging with it—that it's possible to pick up a piece of shit by the clean side. It's not.

All containers have limited capacity. They fill up. And what happens when one punctures, out of impatience, exhaustion, or any other reason, a bag full of shit? Or worse, tosses it into a fan? The consequences are far more damaging than direct engagement would have been.

the practice of authentic engagement

What, then, is the solution to this collective avoidance? Someone has to pick up the turd. Someone will have to get dirty, knowing they can clean themselves afterward. Even better if this operation can be carried out collectively. Thus, the dirt is shared. And the positive effect will be felt by all.

The philosopher Martin Buber distinguished between "I-It" relationships, where we treat others as objects to be managed, and "I-Thou" relationships, where we encounter others in their full humanity. Political correctness often traps us in the I-It mode, reducing people to categories requiring particular linguistic handling rather than unique beings deserving authentic engagement.

In practice, the only way I know for this to happen is: conversation. Not just any conversations, but conversations about how we converse. This meta-conversation becomes the pathway toward transcending political correctness and moving toward something more authentic: correctness without political qualification.

It takes little for workplace relationships to sour. "You passed by me in the cafeteria without sitting down for lunch." "You always unformat my documents." "You consistently refute my ideas." "You don't let me speak." "Your opinion is always considered while mine isn't." "Your desk is always chaotic." "Is unpleasant to me." These small frictions, when left unaddressed, transform into significant barriers to collaboration. Political correctness maintains these tensions beneath a veneer of tolerance—a "rotten peace."

Through observing functional teams and relationships, I've come to recognize elegance as the most effective antidote to political correctness. This elegance manifests through courage, respect, perceptiveness, and candor. These aren't inherent traits but learned capacities, developed through practice and, crucially, through relationship.

Therefore, if you wish to liberate yourself from the disease of political correctness without incurring its opposite extreme—becoming foul-mouthed, without filter—begin with conversation about conversation itself. Like any culinary recipe, functional human community is not merely the sum of its ingredients. No single element stands alone. To "cook" good teams, one must use the best utensils at our disposal: conversations.

a self-reflexive afterword

In translating and adapting this essay for this publication, I've become aware of a certain paradox: even as I critique political correctness, I find myself navigating between directness and consideration, between provocative metaphor and accessible explanation. This tension isn't merely a stylistic concern but reveals something fundamental about language itself—how it both liberates and constrains, reveals and conceals.

Let me be explicit about a crucial distinction: the opposite of political correctness is not rudeness. It is not becoming an insensitive person who "speaks their mind" without regard for others' sensibilities. We see this confusion play out on the world stage when diplomacy is redefined by its apparent opposite—consider how figures like Donald Trump and his administration, in recent interactions, have replaced diplomatic protocol with blunt transactionalism. This doesn't represent correctness but merely another form of distortion—replacing one problematic extreme with another. The true opposite of being politically correct is simply being correct—speaking truth with both clarity and consideration, engaging directly with reality without sacrificing compassion.

The philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein wrote that "the limits of my language mean the limits of my world." Political correctness, at its worst, constricts these limits, narrowing the territory of what can be expressed and therefore what can be thought. The challenge before us is to expand these limits without abandoning the ethical responsibility that language entails.

Political correctness attempts to handle the messy parts of human interaction with sterile gloves, keeping us clean but unable to actually address the situation. True communication requires getting our hands a little dirty—engaging directly with uncomfortable realities—while maintaining enough respect and care to wash up properly afterward.

The goal isn't to abandon all consideration for others' feelings, but rather to recognize when protective language serves compassion and when it serves avoidance. The challenge lies in developing the wisdom to distinguish between them—knowing when to pick up the shit directly and when to use tools, not to avoid engagement, but to engage more effectively.

In the end, perhaps the most politically incorrect thing we can do is to acknowledge the shit at the center of the room—not with gleeful transgression or cruel disregard for others' feelings, but with the compassionate recognition that only by seeing clearly what is can we create the conditions for what might be.